


Sacrament

by ticktockclockwork



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26609713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork
Summary: A gift given, with thanks.---Jaskier helps bandage Geralt up after a bad injury.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 118





	Sacrament

The pain is unbearable but the silence is worse. Geralt’s breath is the loudest noise in the campsite, pushing out his lungs by the pin-prick force of the needle stitching his skin closed. He aches, from tip to toe, and wishes - not for the first time - to have been given a different lot in life.

Briefly he wonders if the man wielding the needle feels the same.

Jaskier is silent, intent on the task at hand. Geralt can feel him tremble every time he pulls the torn flesh back together; can feel him stutter-stop for a moment when Geralt can’t help but moan a little from the pain. He knows this takes years off the bard’s life, knows every time he returns to camp holding his body together, Jaskier loses a little of himself as well.

But there is nothing to be done for it. For Geralt’s lot, for Jaskier’s devotion, for the pain, or the blood, or the heartache. Could you expect any less when falling for a Witcher?

“Almost done.” Jaskier breathes more than he speaks, pulling the thread tight then taking his time tying the stitches off. He picks up one of Geralt’s small blades to trim the excess thread then sits back on his haunches with exhaustion clear on his face.

“Alcohol.” Geralt reminds him. He tries for gentle but knows he doesn’t succeed.

Jaskier doesn’t register it anyways, instead uttering a soft “right” before shuffling to their pack. He pulls out a clear bottle of liquid, a distilled alcohol too strong to drink, infused with herbs and a little magic specifically for this task. He also takes up a few strips of clean fabric they have saved then returns to Geralt’s side. “This’ll sting.” He warns as he pours the pungent alcohol on the rag. When Geralt neither protests nor responds, Jaskier turns the cloth and presses it fully to the violent wound.

Geralt kicks from the sudden, searing pain, nearly throwing Jaskier off him. His shout startles a flock of birds who go careening through the treetops with a flurry of panicked wings. But Jaskier holds on and looks grieved to be the one implementing this pain, even if it’s for the benefit of the wound. There are whispered apologies woven in there too, but Geralt cannot hear them over the thundering sound of his own heartbeat.

Silence once again descends as Jaskier removes then reapplies the cloth, willing any poison or wayward infection to find another host. He knows Geralt’s body could fight it, could resist, but he has enough wars to battle, Jaskier wishes to spare him this. 

It takes time, long enough for their fire to grow cold, but eventually Geralt’s body grows used to the pain and Jaskier feels as if he’s done the best he can do here in the middle of the woods. If they’re lucky there will be a healer in the next town over who can do better work than this. But more likely than not there won’t be, and they’ll both have to hope this is good enough.

Geralt for his part is tapped. He’s barely holding himself upright and his entire left side is covered in blood and grime. He needs to be cleaned but the river they camped near is too far away to consider. Jaskier cannot hold up Geralt’s weight for long and he doubts Geralt can support himself anymore. Not for the night at least.

“Alright, love, I need your help here for a bit.” Jaskier grunts as he shifts under Geralt’s other arm and attempts to lift him up from where he’s sitting. The Witcher is dead weight and Jaskier almost slides to his knee on some slick underbrush but finally manages to stagger them to their bedroll, laying Geralt on his stomach as gently as possible. He waits to see if Geralt will stir or if the position is too painful but when Geralt seems content enough he heaves a heavy sigh and goes to clean himself up.

Once he decides his clothes are not worth saving, it doesn’t take him long to rejoin Geralt on the ground. The man appears to be sleeping but Jaskier has never been able to tell for sure so he lays down next to him on his own stomach, pillowing his head on his arms. He’s tired, deep in his bones, but his mind is still buzzing from the gore, so sleep evades him for a while. Instead he watches the other rest, tracing the lines of his face with his eyes, studying his features. Geralt is handsome, in the same way a mountain is handsome - beautiful and daunting and grand. If you didn’t know what you were doing it could be frightening. If you knew the proper way to travel, stunning. 

Jaskier is so lost in his musings that he misses when Geralt opens his eyes to look back.

“Morning.” Jaskier whispers, his cheeks dusted an endearing pink at having been caught staring. And indeed it is morning as he can see the softest of light coming up over the tops of the trees. 

Geralt doesn’t respond, instead shifting just a little to slide his arm around Jaskier’s waist, grimacing as the motion pulls on his wound. The desire to touch the bard seems more important though because he relaxes with a huff once Jaskier is close.

Jaskier touches his hair gently, running a thumb along the crest of his ear. “Rest, my love.” He whispers quietly as he finally feels his own eyelids drifting closed. “And know you have the thanks of the valley for what you did tonight. I don’t think you hear that enough… not enough for all this.” Jaskier turns his face and kisses Geralt’s brow. “But it’s true. And I am proud.”

He doesn’t hear anything in reply but he feels the way Geralt shifts just a little bit closer, tucking his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, and that’s good enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ [ticktockclockwork](https://ticktockclockwork.tumblr.com)


End file.
